


I Did Not See Mommy Kissing Santa Claus - And I am Willing to Testify to That Effect

by shadow13



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family Fluff, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 12:32:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3068018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow13/pseuds/shadow13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Christmas is celebrated in the Goblin Kingdom. Fluffy wuffy Christmas fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Did Not See Mommy Kissing Santa Claus - And I am Willing to Testify to That Effect

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mztlynne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mztlynne/gifts).



> I KNOW THIS IS SO FLUFFY IT'S GAG-WORTHY, BUT IT'S CHRISTMAS, GIVE ME A LITTLE SLACK, GUYS!  
> I have been vaguely planning this for months, but only figured out how I would do it at 4:50 on Christmas Eve – which was when we were leaving to visit family, so of course, no time to write it. Woopsie! Well, it's still in time for the twelve days of the Christmas season.  
> A Christmas gift to the hardest working helper in Santa13's Christmas shop of pseudo-porn and crack – Mztlynne.

“More to the left, Ludo! It's not straight yet! _Left_!” 

The shaggy red beast dragged the  _ twelve foot  _ pine in the wrong direction. “Ludo....left?”

“I say, Brother Ludo!” Sir Didymus vaulted the monster's shoulders as easily as if they were a stone to be surmounted. “Left is the  _ other  _ direction.”

“Oh...”

“It's the one that makes an L with your hand, see?” The Goblin Prince closed his left eye, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth in a gesture very much like his mother, and held up both his hands, thumb and forefingers extended with the others curled in. He dropped his right hand when he was satisfied he had done it right. “L for left!”

Ludo released the tree in order to make this gesture – which is much more difficult to do with only three fingers – and the goblins attached to it began squealing as the tree began to careen down toward the ground. Hoggle nearly stomped on Ludo's foot to awaken him. “You big red lummox! Watch what yer doin'!”

Ludo's wide mouth grinned almost sheepishly as he righted the tree, and the goblins scrambled to hold it in place in its huge, silver stand. The young Prince nodded his approval. “Okay! It's straight!”

It was at this moment that the Goblin Queen entered, a steaming mug of cider warming her hands as she surveyed the be-treed Throne Room, the pine standing proudly behind the twin pair of thrones on the dais. “Wow, that's a great job, you guys!”

“Mummy!” The Prince had his father's mop of platinum hair, and he flicked it out of his sea-foam eyes as he rushed up to his mother, arms wrapping around her waist. Sarah had to be careful he did not knock her hands and spill the cider over the both of them. “Can we put the lights on now? And the top, can you ask Daddy to move the stars again?”

Sarah smiled, brushing his too-long blond hair behind one ear so it was away from his face. “Ari, the last time we did that, astronomers in the Aboveground thought we were colliding with the Andromeda galaxy four billion years too early.”

“...so?”

“Rather than a star plucked from the heavens, how about we use a crystal?”

“Ahem.” A portly little goblin tottered up and bowed before his young sovereign, a subtly glowing jar in one clawed fist. “Prince Aragorn Jareth Robert Charlemagne-”

Ari rolled his eyes. “I don't want to hear  _ all  _ the names, we'll be here for hours!”

Sarah pulled gently at the slightly sharp point of his ear. “Aragorn, manners...” Aragorn huffed and tried to listen, while the goblin steward held out the jar to him.

“The first light for your tree, Your Grace.”

The young boy reached out to grab it greedily, but his mother beat him to it. “Did you guys put fairies in bottles  _ again _ ?”

“They make the best lights!”

“Yeah, Mum, they're the best lights!”

“ _ No _ .” The Queen's lips were pursed and she had on her most regal and motherly air, one hand at her hip. “Aragorn, what did I tell you about fairies in bottles.”

The towheaded boy sighed, dragging his toe along the cobbled floor of the Throne Room. “Not to do it.”

“And what did you do?”

“....did it anyway?”

“Uh huh. And you're going to go out and open all those bottles and let them out.”

The Prince seemed flabbergasted. “But, Mum! They'll bite!”

The Queen sighed, sipping at her warm drink. “Very well. But I'm not sure Santa Claus looks kindly on little boys who disobey their mother and trap living things in bottles-” Prince Aragorn didn't need to be told twice; he gathered an armful of bottles and tore off at a run towards the Royal Garden, a small parade of goblins following in his wake, each clutching bottles. Sarah just smiled and looked at her friends. “Have you guys seen His Royal Pain-in-the-Butt?”

Ludo gave his low, wheezing chuckle while Hoggle wrinkled his nose at a reminder of his friend-in-law. “No, we ain't.”

Sir Didymus vaulted from Ludo's shoulders, sweeping his feathered hat low against the floor as he bowed. “Oh most Gracious Majesty-”

“Just Sarah, Didymus, we've been over this. You don't have to start calling me Your Grace or whatever.”

“It is not proper, my Lady!”

The Goblin Queen knelt and rubbed at one of his pointed ears, smiling. “Didymus, we're  _ friends _ . I'm not the boss of you.”

“Your Majesty, I have sworn an oath of fealty to you and your House from this day until the end of my-”

She placed a finger at his muzzle. “Right, I remember. Have you seen Jareth?”

He nodded with bright, black eyes. “His Majesty had retired to his study, my Queen.”

“Got it, thanks.” Sarah stood, flicking her hair over one shoulder. “And would you do me a favor and make sure they don't use any  _ other  _ living things for ornaments on that tree?”

“Easier said than done,” the little gardener muttered, but the woman they'd watched grow up had already gone stalking after her royal husband.

Just as expected, Sarah did find her King in his study, holding a gold-bound book by one cover, its pages falling vertically. The woman sighed, leaning in the door way. “It's not a centerfold, Jareth, that's not how you read it.”

“I have  _ no  _ idea what you're talking about,” her husband drawled, head canted to the side and eyes narrowed in study. “So, this Saint Nicholas fellow is both an elf  _ and  _ a saint. I had no idea one of your religions was so open to inter-species faith.”

“Uh, what? No, Jareth...” Sarah sighed, fingers combing back her dark hair. “That's just a poem, dear. For all I know, it's entirely made up and has no basis in tradition at all.”

“Really now,  _ Sarah _ . It's true its meter is uninspired, but you shouldn't denigrate your own holy texts.”

“It's not a-”

“Still, if an elf rose to such prominence in the Aboveground, I would most certainly know his identity here!”

Sarah smiled, taking his hands and sitting on his desk, so that the Goblin King was distracted from his intense study of Aboveground traditions. “It's really sweet of you to let me start celebrating Christmas down here, but I think we need to try to clarify a few things. Again.” The woman paused, eyes catching something stuck to the ceiling. “Jareth, is that mistletoe?”

“The piece of greenery that requires you to kiss me regardless of location or occupation? Absolutely.”

“Jareth, it's not-”  _ Deep breath, Sarah _ . “You know, finding that in my closet this morning was a  _ little  _ beyond the pale.”

“You found more? Then you must kiss me twice.”

“That isn't how that works.”

“The longer you delay, precious, the greater the interest develops on that kiss...”

“ _ Kisses don't earn interest. _ ”

“Oh, fine, I'll be  _ generous _ .” Before the woman could explain her position yet  _ again _ , the fairytale King had planted his lips full against hers, soft and sensual and pulling her tightly to him on the desk. Briefly, Sarah forgot her purpose in coming into the room. After several long, kiss-filled moments, she remembered – and yanked on a long lock of her husband's silver hair to pull him off her mouth.

“Remember, I'm going to need your help hiding half of Aragorn's gifts. Did you open that rip in space and time like you promised?”

The Goblin King gave a very irritated, put upon sigh. “I do not see why some fat, elven layabout should get credit for the gifts I have gathered for  _ my  _ son and heir.”

“It's just a fun thing, Jareth, something for kids to believe in. Besides, I'd think that's the one thing you'd want more of, belief in magic?”

“In  _ my  _ magic, certainly! But this magic is pointless! It serves no purpose!”

Sarah sighed, leaning back slightly on the desk. “Wonder and peace and magic and stuff at Christmas is its own purpose –  _ don't  _ roll your eyes!”

He already had. “Just how many of your people believe in all this nonsense.”

“You mean how many people celebrate Christmas in some way? I don't know...millions?”

Jareth had been about to turn away and re-collect his various study materials, but he froze at that. “Run that titbit by me again, love?”

“Well, it's a Western tradition, but with colonization, there's certainly celebrations in-”

“ _ Millions  _ of people believe in this...Father Christmas?”

“Well, at least when they're little.”

“And they go through  _ all  _ these rituals? The letters, the visits, leaving out milk and cookies.” Sarah nodded. Her husband turned a unique shade of red (though on his pale face, it was closer to pink in color). “ _ Son of a- _ ”

“Jareth!”

“I struggle to get  _ one  _ child wished away to the Underground and this  _ rotund martyr  _ has millions of people  _ adding to his fat _ !” Before his wife could say one word, he had torn back through the books, the lists of carols, the tinsel and holly that scattered the office floor like so many chicken feathers in the Throne Room. “I will find the secret of this  _ Santa Claus _ , and when I do, the Aboveground will tremble at the presence of the Sidhe once again!”

“Right....” Sarah slid off the desk, eyes narrowed skeptically. “This whole Grinch, Jack Skellington, take-over-Christmas business is  _ adorable _ , but just make sure you hide the presents, alright?” If he heard her, he gave no indication, rummaging through the trinkets and muttering to himself. “I'm going to assume that's a yes.”

 

* * *

 

“Majesty, Majesty! Snow!”

“It does that  _ every winter _ , you nitwits...”

“Father...” Aragorn sucked at the end of his pencil, giving his father a careful look with sea-green eyes. “If you aren't nice to the goblins, Santa will know.”

“And what, pray tell,” his royal sire grumbled, lounging on his ivory throne, “will this Santa creature do about it?”

A few goblins were busily brushing snow from out of window ledges and doorways; it inevitably crept in as logs were dragged to the roaring fire, or different creatures skittered from one part of the City and the Castle to another. The King and Queen sat perched upon their thrones, the one lounging, the other sipping mulled wine and addressing cards to go out to other monarchs in the Underground in the Yule season. Likewise, the little Prince was also writing, stretched out on the floor between his parents' feet – but he was writing someone far more important than a head of state. The Goblin Prince pulled his pencil from his mouth and sat up, thin face, so much like his fathers, very seriously set. “If you aren't nice, he will put coal in your stocking.”

For his part, Jareth shrugged, head tilting back to better examine his son. “Well, it's very lucky that I don't wear stockings.”

Aragorn began to laugh. “No, Father, not ones on your feet! Ones by the fire!”

“Who on  _ earth  _ puts stockings by a fire! What are you writing, anyway, Ari?”

“My letter to Santa Claus, so he knows what I want for Christmas.”

“So despite the fact that this fellow can see when you are sleeping or awake...he requires letters in order to keep track of your desires?” The King snorted. “Well, his magic must not be that significant after all.”

Sarah sighed, setting her letters down and taking a long, steadying sip of her wine. “It's another tradition, Jareth.” She watched her husband groan and mutter something about, “another bloody tradition...” “Good children are on Santa's Nice list, and get presents and candies; while bad children are on the Naughty list and get coal.”

“This St. Nicholas is becoming a most tiresome fellow.” Jareth's mismatched eyes were narrowed and he stole his wife's goblet to take a sip from. Aragorn added that to the naughty tally in his mind. “Setting himself up as some kind of cosmic moral authority over others – ah, but then, if he is a Catholic saint...”

“Mummy.” Ari laid his hand on his mother's knee, his eyes all wide and innocent, but his smile as devious as his father's. “What list are you on? Nice or Naughty?”

“Oh, Aragorn,” his father tutted, taking Sarah's hand and pulling her off her throne so she landed in his lap. The Prince was used to such displays from his parents, they made no secret of their love. To the King's mind, it was far healthier that they did not, a good model on relationships for the Prince. Just how good a model it was, Sarah was not always convinced. “You shouldn't ask such silly questions. Mummy is on the Naughty list for certain.”

Sarah spoke and smiled through grinding, gritted teeth. “Jareth...I'm not above displays of violence in front of our son...”

“Nor should you be, beloved. Toughens the boy up.”

The Queen bit her lip to the point where it looked like she may draw blood – but then smiled sweetly, easing on her husband's lap. Jareth tightened his arms around her waist. “Ari, sweetness...I want you to go play in the other room, alright? Your father and I are going to have a...discussion.”

“Is this a yelling discussion, or a kissing discussion?”

“ _ Go, Aragorn _ .”

Aragorn left. He considered that their yelling discussions often also involved kissing, and whatever they ended up doing, he'd rather not bear witness. The young Prince had been about to see if he could sneak his way into the Escher Room (off limits as an area of play since his mother caught him with the slinky his Aboveground grandparents had given to him on an earlier birthday) when he bumped into the newest team of log-bearers – led by Sir Didymus.

The foxy knight had been sitting atop the highest log on the sledge as it was dragged by none-too-pleased goblins, barking orders and corrections, but seeing the boy, he leaped from his perch with a sprightly motion that belied his age, long nose touching the ground as he bowed. “My Prince!” Aragorn tapped his fingers against his thigh and hoped he wouldn't list off  _ all  _ his names. “Seasons greetings betide you! How fares your royal personage on this wintery afternoon?”

“Bored,” was the short reply, pale aqua eyes casting about to see if his mother's other friends were also around. “Are Hoggle and Ludo with you, too?”

“Brother Ludo has been removing stems of mistletoe from the ceilings at your Lady mother's request! And as the Royal Gardener, Friend Hoggle has been gathering them.”

“Oh, good! Whatever you're doing, stop it, you guys have to come play with me.”

“As my Prince commands me...” Didymus' ears pressed back against his head, but a royal order was a royal order, whether from the mouth of a child or the mouth of a King, and he abandoned the log sledge – to the great relief of the goblins pulling it – to go and fetch his other companions.

A few moments of running and shouting and orders from Ari later, and the quartet had gathered in the Goblin Queen's library, where her afternoon tea was awaiting her when she was finished in the Throne Room. Aragorn sat perched in her plush chair, fingers steepled together and channeling his father's regal authority. “Ludo,” he commanded, sharp nose in the air. “Call the rocks.”

“All rocks?”

“No,” the Prince shook his head as the lumbering beast perked up his long, floppy ears. “Small ones will do.” Ludo's voice was a low croon, large lips slightly pursed as he serenaded the stones; little pebbles and smooth, rounded rocks came tripping down the hall, bouncing merrily into the Queen's library while her little son grinned on, quickly gathering them up in his small hands.

“'ere now,” Hoggle was scolding, chubby hands on his low hips. “What's all this, then? I gots to get these weeds back out to the green house 'fore your mum blows her stack.”

“We'll go in just a minute,” Aragorn assured him, dropping the stones one by one into the porcelain teapot, painted with pink roses; they fell with increasingly high-toned “plips” and “plops” into the tea.

“My Prince,” Didymus hesitated. “You  _ know  _ your Lady mother will not be happy with you for this, why do it?”

“Cause I'm bored, and her reactions are  _ hilarious _ .”

“Just like his no-good dad, he is...”

“Friend Hoggle! That is most blasphemous, treasonous, slanderous-”

“Guys, look at it this way.” Ari hopped off the chair and took one of Ludo's huge hands in his own, leading the beast – and subsequently the other two – our of the library. “Mum always says I'm too smart for my own good, and that's why I get bored, right?”

“The Queen does say this, that's true,” Didymust nodded in assent.

“And if I'm bored, I have to do  _ something _ , right?”

Hoggle's arms were crossed as they stopped in the hall, and his voice was grumbling. “S'pose. But you don't have to go-”

“I'm not allowed back in the chicken coops after the egg tossing contest.”

“Was a right mess, it was...”

“And I'm not allowed back in the Fiery Forest after I took all those heads to use for croquet balls.”

Didymus sighed. “It  _ was  _ rather unseemly.”

“And I'm not allowed back in the Goblin City on my own after I tried to ride Humongous that one time!”

“You ain't allowed on your own cause you started a  _ riot _ .”

“So what's a Prince to do?” In a voice all too like his father, he sighed, “The royal mind requires occupation!” Ari grinned, shoving his hands into his pockets and beginning to stroll away as lithely as his father might.

“Ain't you worried about this Santer Claus or whoever?” Hoggle had one eye squidged close, his fat fingers scratching at his tufts of grey hair. “This definitely falls in a category of Naughty doin's.”

“Compared to the riot for better wages for chicken farmers and higher allowances for Princes who ride Humongous, I think this is rather petty. How unreasonable can Santa be?”

It was then that his mother's voice could clearly be heard from down the long hall. “ _ Aragorn Jareth Robert _ -”

The four instantly winced, particularly Ludo, who began to keen again. Hoggle just grimaced. “If she gets to Charlemagne, you're really in trouble.” Ari went pale and took off at a run in the opposite direction.

 

* * *

 

“I will not put stones in my mother's teapot ever again.” To be written five thousand times, or every single one of his gifts would be given to the Home for Goblins with an Imbalance of the Inner Ear. He had gotten up to approximately fifty four before he was able to properly magic his quill to write on its own. Ari was young, his talents simply weren't that developed yet, but his skill should suffice to make a  _ pen  _ write on its own. The penmanship was terrible and the spelling was frequently incorrect (“teapot,” for example, does not have four Ts), but Ari figured it was enough just to get them down and hope his mother never checked. 

Aragorn was stuck in the Throne Room, with no less than three goblins watching to make sure he stayed put. As those had been the instructions, and not, “Make sure he doesn't use magic to get out of his punishment,” they had yet to interfere in the boy's cheating, and instead were content to simply watch their Crown Prince, excessively fond of children as they were. Ari had been able to drag his mother's stereo in, though, and was playing carols to pass his time until the pen finished the five thousand sentences. It was what he was doing when his father strode into the Throne Room.

“Alright. Which of you little devils has taken my jacket.” The goblins blinked with wide eyes – and proceeded to point at one another. “Oh,  _ highly  _ amusing. You know the Aboveground cannot handle my unfettered glory! I need that drab leather jacket in order to shade my brilliance somewhat! Aragorn, have you seen my jacket.”

“Nope.” The boy fiddled with the stereo to skip over “Jingle Bells,” as the goblins never stopped singing it once it was begun. A familiar strain of music began to play and the boy grinned, singing along.

“Gods' teeth. Am I your buffoon, or am I your King!” The goblins trembled as their monarch raised his voice. “Am I to hunt for my own possessions through every nook and cranny of this damned Castle by myself or will you prove yourselves  _ useful  _ for once!” 

The goblins began howling, scrambling over one another to find the King's coat, lest the terrible vengeance of a Christmas visit to the Bog be cast upon them. Jareth stood in the center of the chaos, tapping his foot, arms crossed against his narrow chest. Aragorn sat upon his father's throne and sang. “Oh, what a laugh it would have been, if Daddy had only seen, Mommy kissing Santa Claus last nigh-”

“What was that?” Before the boy could blink, his father was leaning over him. “What was that you were saying, Aragorn?”

“Singing, Father,” he corrected, falling back in the chair as his father loomed over him. “It's one of the carols Mummy has for the music player.”

“Oh  _ is it, _ now. Exactly what, pray tell, would be so amusing about your mother – the Queen, I might add! – kissing not only another man, but a rotund elf, to boot!”

“Father, I don't think it's-”

“To speak nothing of the fact that it's  _ treasonous!  _ Aragorn, someday you will be King, and would you allow your wife to  _ kiss other men _ ?”

“Daddy-”

“Look who I found strutting about in the garden.” The Queen herself entered, wearing a dry expression and holding up a smartly dressed black hen; smartly dressed, because the King's leather jacket was dripping from her round body. “I'm sure she was quite cozy while scratching for grubs out there.”

“That's it!” The King snatched his jacket off the confused bird, pulling it over his arms angrily before pulling out a comb to pull back his unruly locks. The hair shortened obligingly, so that the platinum blond became a wave to the side of his head, helping with his mortal disguise. “No more chickens! All chickens are to be banned immediately! There will be a  _ Christmas feast  _ of chickens throughout the land!” Goblins came trailing in behind their Queen and the be-jacketed chicken, and promptly began weeping at the news.

“Don't get your feathers in a ruffle, Your Majesty.” Sarah just rolled her eyes and dropped the hen to the floor, giving her a gentle push away. “Ari, get your coat, it's about time to go to Grammy and Grampa's.”

“And by the way,  _ Sarah _ ! I don't appreciate the solicitous  _ trash  _ you are introducing our son and heir to!”

“That  _ I'm  _ introducing him to?”

“Songs about kissing other  _ men _ – we've been over this, you belong to me, that was very much a matter of fine print in the wedding vows, and I  _ will not have _ -”

“Jareth, if you don't shut up right now, I swear I will say your  _ favorite  _ six words in the English language, and then I'll repeat them in Goblin. Aragorn, coat.”

The boy sighed, pulling on a coat of dark blue wool that shone beautifully against his pale complexion. “I was singing 'I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus...'”

“...is  _ that  _ what this is about!”

“I knew allowing this  _ Christmas  _ nonsense was a terrible idea, a good, old fashioned,  _ pagan  _ Yule has always been good enough befo-”

“Jareth.” The woman had a flash of fire in her green eyes. “Read my lips: you have no power over-  _ mmph _ !” 

Her husband had yanked her against him and smothered her mouth with his own, hands bruising in their grip. Aragorn rolled his eyes, but the King seemed quite triumphant when he at last released his bride. “There.  _ That  _ should fix the notion of allowing portly fools to court you.”

Sarah gave him a glare that spoke volumes. “We are discussing this later – with  _ words _ , Jareth, not just mouths.”

“Mouths are far more eloquent than words, I find.”

“Ari.” The boy toddled obediently over to his mother as she bent at the knees, wrapping a beautiful, white cashmere scarf around his neck. “Remember, you're in first grade now. What are your favorite subjects?”

The boy sighed. “Science and reading and sports...”

Sarah finished wrapping the scarf and checked the buttons on his coat. “And if Grandma Karen and Grandpa ask how you like London, what will you tell them?”

“Toodle pip and- ow!” She tightened the scarf about his neck and gave her boy a serious look. Ari stuck his tongue out in response. “It's ever so lovely.”

“And if we get another fey-touched wacko calling you a Prince again?”

“It's just because...” He made a face and gave a mocking, sing-song voice, “I'm  _ Mummy's little Prince _ .”

“That's right, you are.” The Queen kissed his red, warm cheek, and straightened. “I think we're ready for the magic, Your Oh-So-Beneficent Grace.”

Jareth grabbed her hand tightly, his son's a little more lightly. “Your sarcasm is unattractive.”

“So's your jealousy.”

“Can we  _ go  _ already?”

“Hush, Aragorn,” his father ordered, but not unkindly. It was enough; the Royal Family disappeared in a puff of glitter and smoke.

 

* * *

 

“ _ Ahhh _ ! There's my favorite grandbaby!  _ They're here _ !”

“Oof! Grandma Karen, I'm your  _ only  _ grandbaby...”

“You're still my favorite, sweetie.  _ Ro-bert! Toby _ !”

The men of the Williams family rounded the corner into the entryway, where the King's were being stripped of coats and doted upon by Karen – particularly young Aragorn. Robert tussled his grandson's pale, blond hair. “Hey there, sport! Look how big you've gotten!”

“Hi, Grandpa.” Grandpa Robert, however, was quickly ignored in favor of Ari's favorite uncle; he launched himself at Toby and wrapped his arms around his knee like a vice. “ _ Uncle Toby _ ! Are we going to play games again, huh, are we?”

“Aragorn, come and give your Grammy and Grampa a proper hug and a kiss.”

“Aw, Mum!”

It was alright, Grandpa was already vigorously shaking his son-in-law's hand. “Jareth! How's my favorite limey?”

“What? Oh; splendid, Robert. Uh...dashed gracious of you to ask.” Sarah was rolling her eyes at his very poor impression of an Englishman.

Luckily, Jareth's natural glamor always seemed to work its charms over his in-laws. Robert was grinning, and he nudged the much-older-man with his elbow in the ribs. “Hey, I've got the eggnog all set up again.”

“Robert.” Karen was scolding, her hands on her hips as Sarah finished hanging up their various coats and scarves. “Maybe put less brandy in them this year?”

“Oh, nonsense, Karen!” Jareth gave his most gracious, most glittering smile. Sarah had no doubt it would work, too. “Robert and I were only under the table because it was so terribly  _ comfortable _ .”

Sarah took her step-mother by the elbow as the teenage Toby began to show his young nephew his newest video games. “Come on, Karen, I'll go help you in the kitchen...”

 

* * *

 

“I think Ari's manners improved a lot this year. I may not even get any nagging voice mails about spoiling him.”

“Your father and step-mother spoil him well enough as it is.”

The child in question had been tucked into bed by his parents; this feat was accomplished because he was positively exhausted from romping with his uncle and overdosing on sweets and gifts from devoted grandparents. It did not hurt that his mother warned Santa Claus would not come were he not in bed at an appropriate hour. His parents stood and watched him sleep, their fingers quietly entwined.

“Still,” Sarah sighed, her head leaning on her husband's shoulder. “That's not an excuse for bad manners. He remembered his pleases and his thank yous quite well this year.”

“He's a  _ Prince _ , Sarah. His manners can be however he damn well chooses.”

“Have I mentioned you're a bad influence? And I'm not just raising a Goblin Prince, I'm raising a gentleman. I hope. Maybe.”

“Are you implying I am  _ not  _ a gentleman?”

“No. I'm out-right saying it.”

“I am most grievously affronted.”

“Roofied peach, Jareth.”

“You are never going to let that go, are you?” Aragorn whimpered and turned in his sleep, tongue darting out to wet his lips; perhaps he was having visions of sugar plums after all. The King pressed a gentle kiss into his wife's hair, whispering, “Perhaps we had better continue this conversation elsewhere...”

Sarah was amenable to that. She was quite happy to retire to their shared bedchamber, but she did not begin changing out of her festive attire as her husband did. “Okay, let's get out those extra gifts for Ar-” She was stopped by her husband's lithe, bare hands at her waist, his mouth over hers, dancing their tongues together. Sarah's green eyes closed for a moment, but she wriggled. “Jareth, we need to do Ari's gifts first.” Jareth's smirk was almost  _ oily _ , and he pointed above to the canopy of the bed. “....you  _ didn't _ .”

“Your walking rug of a friend didn't think to check for mistletoe in the solar, no.” Indeed, Ludo had not; for only the Goblin King would be devious enough to attach the stuff to the canopy of his own bed.

Sarah's brow furrowed. “And you wonder why I don't call you a gentleman?”

“ _ Sarah _ ...” Jareth's voice was husky. “Kiss me, precious thing.”

“Jareth, your  _ son  _ needs to have his gifts from Santa Claus.”

“They will keep for a few – for ten-” he paused, puzzling in thought. “...for a half an hour.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow. “A half hour, huh?”

“You're right. Better budget for an hour, just to be cautious. I'll stop time.” The Goblin King kissed his Champion again – and there was simply no arguing with that, and the tradition of mistletoe, of course.

 

* * *

 

“ _ Santa came, Santa came _ !”

“ _ Oof _ . Aragorn...” 

The Goblin Prince had come tearing into his parents' bedchamber and swan dived onto their bed at a full gallop. He bounced once on his father's stomach, kissed his mother on her cheek, and went rushing back out the door again, calling all the while, “ _ Santa was here, Father, he came _ !” 

Sarah turned on her side to examine her husband, who had a groggy, blown look about his eyes. She just smiled to herself, perhaps a little smugly. “Told you it was a good thing we put on some night clothes.”

“Let me guess: another Aboveground tradition?”

“Of a sort. I used to get my dad up at three in the morning.”

“How charming.”

The Goblin Prince could be heard shouting from the Throne Room once more. “ _ Mum! Dad! Are you coming! _ ”

“Coming...” his father grumbled, pulling himself out of bed and slipping into an elegant silk robe, blue and black and threaded with silver. Sarah settled for her old college sweatshirt and slippers. Jareth stifled a yawn against the back of his hand as the pair walked to the Throne Room together, the lights of the tree sparkling like crystals in the dark. “Well, love, I suppose some measure of success must be attributed to you. Clearly the boy is happy.”

Sarah accepted a cup of coffee from a goblin on a silver tray and touched a hand to her husband's arm in surprise. “Jareth! You never told me you got him more things!”

The King blinked from the glimmering Christmas tree to his wife, and back to the positive  _ cornucopia  _ of gifts that were piled throughout the Throne Room. “More things?”

“Those ones,” the Queen pointed out the outermost ring, settling on her throne. “The ones wrapped in green and red.”

“I don't wrap things.”

“But you must have. I didn't do those ones.”

There was a long,  _ long  _ pause. After a moment, the pair looked at one another in astounded silence. Aragorn broke it by rushing up to his father with a long, thin box. “This one has your name on it, Father!”

“Ah...th-thank you....”

Sarah snorted into her cup. “His manners can be however he damn well-”

“ _ Thank you, Sarah, I remember _ .”

Aragorn didn't stay to watch the package be opened; he had dived back into his trove of gifts. Sarah smiled at her immortal lover. “Well, are you going to open it?” The King snorted, slowly untying the white, organza ribbon and lifting the lid. With quiet caution, his still bare fingers lifted up a new riding crop of braided leather, an owl stamped on the soft, leather strap. He gaped until Sarah lifted up a slip of paper from the box. “There's a card with it.”

Indeed, there was. The two looked at it together. “ _ To his Majesty, King of the Goblins – Remember, nothing is ever as it seems. A reward for the efforts of niceness made on behalf of family. Yours – K.K. _ ”

“K.K?”

Sarah's hand covered her mouth. “Kris Kringle...”

“Who in the bloody hell is Kris Kringle!”

“Jareth...that's another name for  _ Santa Claus _ .”

The King blinked several times. “... _ he has more damned names _ !”

“Mummy!” Aragorn launched himself into his mother's lap and covered her soft cheeks with kisses. “Thank you so much for the rocking horse, it's beautiful!”

“Oh! Ari, you're welcome, sweetheart.” She tussled her son's hair. “Have you found any coal yet?”

The boy scowled slightly. “Only one little piece, but the note said Santa knew I'd be better next year.”

“W-what? Aragorn, I didn't-”

The Goblin King was on his feet, waving his new riding crop in the air like a saber. “ _ Where in the seven hells is my Guard! I've had a sodding intruder in the Castle _ !”

Ari kissed his mother again and slid off her lap to unwrap more gifts. Sarah considered it wasn't a bad first Christmas in the Underground.

 


End file.
